Roses are lightning of thoughts,
they are arrows of the love.
Their beauty is like a magic potion,
and when you drink it, you slip into the poetry ocean.
Roses are like language of love in scrapbook of happiness,
silent song which is heard in the evening.
They are like fresh flash of the morning light in the clear well,
breathtaking sight of a magical spell.
Oh, Aphrodite, tell me, how am I supposed to extol
your roses by human tongue?
Don't be offended if I try to with my own words
with a little help of nightingales, and other heavenly birds.